2008 Supercharged BMW Z4 convertible.  That’s what I am talking about.  I gunned the engine, exceeding the speed limit and cranked Guns n’ Roses’ Appetite for Destruction.  The car was new.  About 10 minutes new.  Credit check and $10,000 down, I had paid a hefty amount of the family’s checking account to drive off in the beautiful piece of performance engineering. 

 

And by family, I mean that woman I had married a few years ago in Vegas.  She had been a showgirl and had a kid, James.  James was an overweight, slightly stupid kid.  I didn’t care for him much, but I paid for his private school bills so as to keep him out of my wife’s hair.  She yelled at me less that way.

 

I cracked open a beer.  I had been sober for two years, attending five AA meetings a week, but considering the circumstances…who cares, right?  I guzzled down the beer and cracked open another.  “It’s So Easy” blasted as I ran the red light.  I decided to call the wife.

 

*Blah blah blah!…Scream scream scream!…Need new drapes…Screech screech screech!…James!…*

 

“Honey… Honey.  Let me speak for a second…”

 

*SCREEEEEAAAAM…Fine!  What?!*

 

“I’m not coming back, shnookims.  I’m leaving.  I just bought a new car, and I am heading to my parent’s house in North Carolina.”

 

*BLAAAARGH…Scream scream scream!…What!?*

 

“Yeah.  Our little ‘marriage’ is a sham.  I know common-law marriages that are more functional.” Should I mention it?  Should I?  Yeah.  Yeah I should.  “And honey.  Sweetie pie?”

 

*WHAAAAAT….GRRRR….SCREEEAM!*

 

“I know you have been cheating on me with the grocer.  Don’t bother coming after my money.  You can keep the house, though…Well, until the bank comes after me.  But I’ll be gone!  Say bye to the kid for me.  Love ya!”  I hung up the phone and tossed it out the window.  I still had the company phone, if I really needed to call the outside world again.  I cracked upen another beer and poured it all over my face.

 

“FREEEEEEEEEEEDOOOOOOM!”  I screamed into the air as I sped down the road.

 

 

“Mister Gar…Gars..”

 

“Yeah.  That’s me doc.  Close enough.”

 

As part of my company’s insurance plan and due to government contracts, I had to submit to drug tests and a full physical every six months.  Everyone did - me, the CEO Bob Wiggins and all the cafetria employees.  It was no big deal.  I was young, handsome and well off.

 

“Ummm.  Right.  I don’t know how to tell you this…but.”

 

And the doctor went on to tell me.  You know those commercials for lawyers?  The ones where they tell you that you can get huge compensation if you have a certain terminal illness?  Yeah.  I had that.  The doctor told me that he could arrange for a therapist.  “Naw.  Thanks, doc,” I told the bearer of bad news.  “Save that for someone who needs it.  I’m cashing out.”

 

The doctor told me that since I had insurance, I could prolong my life for another year or two.  “Naw.  Thanks, doc.  Hey, tell my boss that I quit.  I ain’t coming back.”

 

“But you will lose your insurance.”

 

“Not going to need it.  I’m going to crawl away to my little hideout under the porch and kick the bucket with dignity.”

 

“But…”

 

“Forget it doc.”  I gave him a kiss on the cheek.  A little awkward gesture to break the tension.

 

I left the doctor’s office and called my parents.  I let them know the deal.  They didn’t react the way I thought they would have.  Probably couldn’t handle the fact that I would be buried in three months and in, what the lunatic preachers at funerals call, “a better place.”  I asked if they would mind if I came to visit.  You know, until I was dead.  They said that was fine.  They said we would go ahead and cram in all the holidays and festivities into three months that we could.

 

—

So as I headed to see the fam, I prepared myself for the Thanksgiving feast we would be having the next day.  In August.  Christmas would be in September, and we would celebrate my December birthday in October.  I’d be dead by real Thanksgiving. 

 

As I write this, Thanksgiving is approaching.  Not feeling to hot right now.  Cough cough, wheeze wheeze,  sniffle sniffle.  Know what I mean?

 

—-

 

I arrived at my parents farm in North Carolina.  I hugged dad, gave mom a kiss on the cheek and went and said hi to the grandma who was dying herself.  Of Boredom!  ZING!  Grandma had terminal boredom and complained about it incessantly.

 

“Hi Grandma!”

 

“Hey.  I can’t stand this place.”

 

“That’s good.  Well, I don’t know if mom and told you, but I’m dying.  Also started drinking again.  Hi-OOO!”  I raised my hand hoping granny would high-five me.  No such luck.  These country folk, so un-hip.

 

“That’s nice.  There’s nothing good on TV!”

 

I walked away and asked my parents about the dog, Scruffy.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry son.  We think he got the rabies.  Had to take him out back and Old Yeller him, know what I mean?”  Dad chuckled.  Apparently, he didn’t know I loved that dog.  Oh well.  I took a heavy pull from my flask, set it down on the table and pulled a beer from my sports coat.

 

“Don’t drink too much, Davey.”  Mom still called me Davey.  “You have to get up early and get us a turkey from the farm.  And grandma’s gotten a little finicky about shot in the animal meat, so no shotgun this time.  You’ll have to snap it’s neck or do it in with an axe.”

 

“Fine mom.  You’re a bit chipper.  Did I mention I was dying?  Like quickly.  Oh yeah, and drinking again?  And in case I forgot to mention it, I left my family up north for good.  By the way, I’M DYING!”  I got a little melodramatic when I drank.

 

—–

 

I woke up at the crack of dawn the next day.  I forgot how terrible a hangover feels.  It had been a few years since I had taken a drink.  What did I care now?  HUZAH!  I cracked open the bottle of Scotch on my bed-stand and took a nice big pull.  Hair of the dog ya know?

 

Speaking of hair of the dog.  My parents are nuts!  They had removed Scruffy’s hide and made a floor mat out of him.  There was a big hole in the middle of it. Must have been where pop “Old Yellered” it.

 

 

I headed out to get us a turkey.  Fortunately, my parents were part of a co-op that sold poultry to Purdue, so we had an abundance of turkey.

 

And “abundance” was an understatement.  We had hundreds and hundreds of those feathered animals.  I grabbed a hatchet and opened the door to the coup. 

 

It flew open.  A literal army of crazed turkeys burst out, knocking me to the ground.  And they scattered.  Mom and Dad are going to be upset by this…

 

I pulled out my flask and took a huge pull.  By “huge pull,” I mean I drank all of it.  If I was going to take on these crazed birds, I needed the spirit of Wild Turkey in my system.  A little alcoholic joke for you!  I’ll be here all week.  That’s probably all, though!  A little death joke!

 

I swung madly at the turkey running by.  Those things can really dodge a 10-pound ax.  I saw the biggest, baddest turkey and ran after it, swinging my death staff like a wild drunken former employee of a Fortune 500 firm.

 

Did you know turkeys are insane?  Did you know they don’t like being chased after by a drunkard with an axe?  Yeah, me neither.  Rather then running away, the Big Turkey ran at me, clucking and ruffling it’s feathers.  It leapt at me and knocked me to the ground.  It started pecking at my face and scratching at my hands.  There was blood flying all over the place.

 

I screamed for help!  “HEEEELP!  THESE TURKEYS ARE INSANE!!!”

 

Did you know turkeys can uppercut with their wings?  They can.  Big Turkey uppercut me with it’s right wing, and when my body was exposed, it head-butted my body.  I hunched over and gasped for breath.  I had a date with death, but that was still a few months away.  I ran and I ran and I ran.  The rest of the turkeys must have sensed fear, and they all followed suit as Big Turkey chased me into the barn.  I slammed the door shut before any of them could make it in.

 

“AHAHAHAHA!  You turkeys are lame!  Come and get me now!  I’ll just stay in here!  Dad’s beer fridge is loaded with Coors!”  And it was.  I grabbed a cold one and drank it down while the insane turkeys outside screamed for me to come out so they could pluck me to death.

 

Then I heard a clucking inside.  I looked up at the window.  It was Big Turkey.

 

“You want a piece of me?!  Come get it, you stupid bird!”  It lunged, but I dodged it.  THUD!  It must have broken a leg or at least sprained its turkey ankle.  It screamed turkey profanities at me.  I kicked it over on it’s back so it could look me in the eyes.

 

The last thing it saw was the shadow of the brick I eclipsed its face with.

 

I emerged from the barn holding the tattered bird.  It scared the other turkeys, and they scattered.  I did the obligatory “BAWK BAWK BAWK…CHICKEN!” at them as I waved their dead brethren in the air.

 

—-

 

Mom made a delicious Big Turkey.  I had about 10 beers in front of me.

 

“Mom.  Dad.  Grandma.  You know I’m dying, right?”

 

“Sure do, son,” dad said.  “How’s the Turkey?”

 

 

“Well, apparently what I’ve got is genetic.  Mine just showed up early.  You all may want to get tested.  I don’t know if early detection helps…”

 

My mom looked at my dad.

 

“Should we tell him?”

 

There was a brief silence…

 

“Son,” my dad said.  “We aren’t going to have that problem.”

 

“You can’t be too sure, dad.”

 

“No, son…Honey, you tell him.”

 

“Davey,” Mom said.  She waved Big Turkey’s leg at me.  “You were adopted….We ain’t got nothing to worry about.”  She winked at my ‘dad.’  He winked back.  No wonder they didn’t care that I was dying.

 

“Yeah, son,” my ‘dad’ said, waving Big Turkey’s other leg at me.  “That’s why we don’t care that you’re dyin’.  In fact, it may entertain your grandma for a while.  You know how bored she gets…”

 

I was speechless.  I asked why they never told me I had been adopted.  They had apparently elected not to tell me when I was a kid because they figured if I stayed loyal to the family and helped them take care of the farm when I got older, they could pretend to love me like a son.  I’d never know the difference.  Unfortunately, when I left North Carolina and went to college, college they had refused to pay for, they decided that they didn’t need to care anymore.  I was essentially adopted for the sake of free labor.  I guess that’s why they didn’t seem to care when I changed my last name from “Jones” to “Garcia.”  I remember telling them I did it because it would make me sound more “worldly” in my work, and I remember feeling guilty about that.  When they didn’t seem to care, just like they didn’t care when they found out I was dying, I felt a bit weird.  But when they told me I was adopted, it all made sense.

 

“Go ahead and finish the bird, man.”  My dad crammed a huge load of potato into his mouth.  He swallowed it.  “When your done, you can stay the night, but don’t get too drunk tonight, you little alkie.  We need you out of here first thing in the morning.  And don’t be coming back here until you’re almost dead.  You know, so grandma will have something to watch.”

 

“You know, Davey,” the woman I thought was my mom said, “If you had just stayed with us…” She gave me a disappointing/menacing look.  “Well, good riddance.”

 

 

I power-drank all the beers in front of me.  Then my phone rang.

 

“Hello?”….”Yeah?”…”Well, that’s great news, I suppose.”….”Well, I’m not going to be back for a while.”…”Of course I know the doctor told you Bob.  How else would you know?”…”Okay.”….”Sure.”…”Well, the wife’s already pretty broken up.  Not going back to her.”…”And, I started drinking again…”…”Okay, well that would be great.”….”Oh yeah, Bob.”… “Well, I’m sure you’ll see me soon.”

 

I stood up and gave ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ the middle finger.  “I won’t be here for Christmas in September.  I’m out of here.”

 

“Well, that’s good, David,” dad said.  “We won’t want to be seeing you.  Unless of course you want to pansy-handle the turkey’s again.  Have fun dyin’, little guy.”  They started laughing hysterically.  ‘Grandma’ laughed so hard her dentures flew out into the mashed potatoes.

 

They laughed and they laughed.  When I slammed the door behind me, I could hear them laughing inside.

 

Then I started to laugh.  I laughed hard.  I laughed hysterically.

 

Where was I going to go?  I couldn’t head back home to the wife and her ridiculously stupid son.  I had started drinking again.  I did have the car.  I guess that was the plus.  Thanksgiving was such a crazy holiday, especially in August.  Especially when its with a family who isn’t your family and who had adopted you as slave labor.  Thanksgiving is also weird when you get overpowered by a crazed turkey.

 

I laughed and I laughed  “AHAHAHAHAHA!”

 

What was there to be thankful for?

 

Well, for one, I wasn’t dying after all.  It turns out my file had gotten mixed up with Dave Garza’s file.  That poor janitor was probably getting the shock of his life as I sat there drunk and completely estranged from all of my family.

 

I wasn’t dying!  I still had years and years of life.

 

And, as a bonus, I got to keep my job.  In fact, the company offered to pay me a large sum of money to keep the little mistake hush hush.  The doctors who did the physicals were on company payroll.  So, I’d get detoxed, use the money to get myself a new condo where I could park my car.  Everything would be fantastic.

 

It’s a good thing I decided against calling Bob Wiggins and telling him I had been carrying on a hot, steamy affair with his young, supple wife.  There’s no way he would have offered to take such good care of me then.  I’ve got that to be thankful for.

 

Happy Thanksgiving!

 

(I just wish I could get rid of these allergies.  Cough cough, sneeze sneeze, sniffle sniffle.  Know what I mean?)